


You've Already Got a Notion of What I Need

by CitrusVanille



Series: My Love Is Electric [1]
Category: McFly
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Bottom Harry, Established Relationship, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Top Dougie, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-14
Updated: 2008-12-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 05:40:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11502912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CitrusVanille/pseuds/CitrusVanille
Summary: Suddenly, 'can'twaitto get you home' is 'can'twait to get you home' and Dougie's curling his fingers around Harry's wrist and dragging him off the dance floor.





	You've Already Got a Notion of What I Need

**Author's Note:**

>  So, I was on the swingset (huzzah for swings on a college campus!), enjoying the first _real_ snowfall of the year, and _The_ _Church of Hot Addiction_  came on my iPod, and this was the result. Apparently, Gabe Saporta singing in my ear causes that thing I have for walls to flare up.

Less than an hour after the show and they’re all piling into the club, high on adrenaline and caffeine, buzzed from backstage alcohol. Tom and Gio slip off to find a private booth. Harry, Danny, and Dougie slide just as easily into the crowds on the dance floor, hot press of bodies and a pounding bassline.

“Don’t wait up,” Danny says, leaning in to speak directly into Dougie’s ear, voice low under the music.

Dougie barely has time to blink before Danny’s gone, swallowed up by the crowd with the small blonde he’s wrapped around.

“That was fast,” Harry says in Dougie’s other ear. His voice is no lower than Danny’s was, and he’s no closer, but Dougie shivers, wants to push back, or pull Harry against him. Suddenly, ‘can’t _wait_ to get you home’ is ‘ _can’t_ wait to get you home’ and Dougie’s curling his fingers around Harry’s wrist and dragging him off the dance floor.

“Means we don’t have to keep him company,” Dougie says, and doesn’t care if Harry can hear him or not, just needs to get him alone _right the fuck now_.

“Where are we going?” Harry shouts, keeping step easily as they wind through the dancers.

Dougie turns and shoots him a grin. “Toilets,” he says, and can’t help but smirk at the look on Harry’s face.

Two minutes later they’re locked in the single-use toilet and Dougie’s got Harry shoved hard against the wall with his shirt rucked up and his jeans undone. He digs the fingers of one hand into the nape of Harry’s neck, the other under his shirt, pressed hard against his ribs, and kisses him softly once, just because he can, then harder, until he’s not kissing so much as he’s fucking Harry’s mouth with his tongue.

Harry moans into it, hips jerking up against Dougie’s, hands fisting in the back of Dougie’s shirt. If he had the use of his mouth, he’d already be begging – they’ve been doing this long enough for Dougie to be sure of it.

Dougie slides the hand on Harry’s chest down over his stomach – loves the feel of the muscles jumping and quivering under his palm – and toys with the waistband of his boxers for a moment before sliding inside, curling his fingers around Harry’s cock and squeezing.

Harry whimpers a little against Dougie’s lips, and again when Dougie lets go, slides his hand around to Harry’s arse and pulls him forward. Dougie doesn’t break the kiss, as much to keep Harry quiet as to keep himself from biting into Harry’s neck, sucking kisses in to the soft skin until it bruises. Tom will frown if they show up together, rumpled, with visible marks, and then he’ll tell Fletch, and they’ll get lectured. Dougie really doesn’t want another lecture this month, so he ignores the shortage of oxygen and concentrates on grinding hard against Harry’s hip until he absolutely has to breathe.

“Lube, condom,” he manages to gasp out when he pulls away, and he hopes Harry actually has a condom, because, while they don’t usually use them anymore, haven’t for at least a year, it will make cleanup a hell of a lot easier, and this is a public toilet – they don’t have a lot of time.

Harry releases Dougie’s shirt to fumble in his pockets, jeans slipping down a little more as he does so, and then he’s got the tube and foil packet, and Dougie has to let go of him to take them. “Come on, come on, hurry up,” Harry urges, and they get tangled up for a moment when Dougie tries to get Harry’s jeans and boxers down while Harry tackles Dougie’s belt.

It only takes a few seconds to get sorted, and then Dougie’s turning Harry around, pushing him against the wall, and sliding a single slicked finger into his arse. Harry pushes back immediately, says, “More, please, Dougie, come on,” his voice a little muffled, forehead braced against the wall on folded arms.

Another finger, and Harry just whines, hips rocking. “Dougie, Dougie, come on, just fuck me already, I don’t need –”

Dougie shoves in three fingers, because he can, crooks them just right, and Harry jerks back against him, his moan echoing off the tiles.

“Doug, Dougie, fuck, stop teasing, I need you, please.”

And Dougie murmurs, “Shh, shh,” and struggles for a moment with the condom wrapper. He tosses the foil towards the bin – doesn’t look to see if he made it, he’ll deal with it later – rolls the latex down – can’t stop his own groan – and braces himself against Harry’s hips as he pushes in, cursing softly as he sinks into the tight heat of Harry’s body. “God, you feel incredible,” he whispers, breath hot against Harry’s ear.

Harry moans again, pushes back onto Dougie’s cock, says, “Fuck me fuck me fuck me.”

“Shh,” Dougie hisses again, lets go of Harry’s hip with his clean hand and uses it to cover Harry’s mouth. “Too loud,” he warns, voice a little strangled but mostly clear. “Fletch’ll kill us if we get caught.” And he’s not sure anyone could hear them over the music – Dougie can hear it in here even with the door closed, can feel the heavy beat of the bassline through the floor and walls, pounding in time with his heart – but he knows they both get off on this.

Harry nods, whines, spreads his legs a little wider – as wide as he can, hampered by the jeans and boxers still around his knees – and rocks back, tries to get Dougie to move.

“Okay, okay,” Dougie breathes, pulls out and pushes back in, sets a fast, hard pace, fingers gripping tight to Harry’s hip, pulling him back to meet him.

The noises Harry’s making are half smothered, half choked, but Dougie knows how loud he’d be if they weren’t both trying to keep him quiet, loves the way Harry’s so vocal, promises himself he’ll let Harry make all the noise he wants when they get home.

Dougie’s close, tight coil of liquid heat burning low in his belly, when he licks a stripe up Harry’s neck – _no teeth, no teeth, no teeth,_ he chants silently, needs to remember – and pants hot and heavy into his ear, “Touch yourself, Harry. Want to see you fall apart.”

Harry groans, already shaking, and slides a hand down to wrap around his own cock. He’s coming within seconds, biting down on Dougie’s hand to keep from screaming, muscles clenching around Dougie’s cock as he slams in again, and Dougie’s own orgasm catches him by surprise. His teeth sink into the cloth covering Harry’s shoulder as he shudders against him, taste of sweat and cotton against his tongue.

It’s a few minutes before Dougie can move, and he sees Harry wince a little when he pulls out. “You okay?” he asks, ties off the used condom and tosses it in the bin, scooping up the wrapper from the floor to get rid of that as well.

“Mm-hmm,” Harry hums, turning around and leaning back against a different part of the wall – he looks a little silly, bare from the waist to the knees, but he’s still the hottest thing Dougie’s ever seen. “Even better.” His smile is languid, a little smug. He knows how good he looks.

Dougie smiles back, can’t help it, feels pretty languid and smug himself.

Then someone’s banging on the door, yelling, “Hurry up in there!” and Dougie’s just left with smug.

Harry rolls his eyes and grabs a handful of paper towels to clean up while Dougie does up his jeans and washes his hands, splashes water on his face. Harry pulls at the collar of his shirt to examine his shoulder in the mirror, and gives Dougie’s reflection an amused look.

“No one will see that if you keep your clothes on,” Dougie tells him, then narrows his eyes and adds, “And you’d better be keeping your clothes on around other people.”

Harry rolls his eyes again, says, “You’re lucky it’s winter,” then yells, “Give us a minute!” when the banging starts up again. It stops abruptly, and there’s the sound of laughter from the other side.

“Better go,” Dougie says. “Fingers crossed that bloke doesn’t recognize us or just thinks we’ve been having a row.”

Harry laughs, shakes his head, presses a quick, chaste kiss to Dougie’s lips, and pulls the lock, shoving Dougie back out into the dark and noise of the club. “Fingers crossed,” he says, voice low, but they both keep their faces turned away from the guy going into the toilet. Just in case crossed fingers don’t quite cut it.


End file.
